Confessions of a Highland Art Dealer

Tony Davidson in conversation with Cynthia Rogerson

by Cynthia Rogerson

The memoir genre only half describes Tony Davidson’s recent book, in which he explores the origin of art works through visits to studios all over Scotland and beyond and investigates the purpose of art and the lives of artists.  Buffeted by the many changes of the last quarter century, he talks about their influence on his community. Threaded through these esoteric and ecological concerns is the personal story of a young man who, while looking for a purpose in life, fell in love with a derelict church near Beauly 26 years ago. He lived in it alone through a freezing winter, repaired it, put in electricity and plumbing, and heated it on the scantiest of shoestrings.  All along he sought artists who resonated with him, for it was never his aim to create a conventional rural gallery selling local scenes.

I meet with Tony in my garden on a sunny/rainy August day. I’ve got two dogs, and he’s brought two more, so there’s a dog party going on the whole time we talk.  It feels fitting.

C: When did you first have the idea of writing about your gallery?  

T: In 2019 Kapka nudged me. Said if I didn’t write it, she would.  (Note: Kapka is Kapka Kasabova, prizewinning author.)  I’d enjoyed writing before, but just small things.

C: This is your first book. Was it hard to write?  

T: No. I just got up early one morning and started. It felt easy because I was remembering the past, and the gallery is full of stories. There was no long journey or extensive research. It took about six months. Once or twice I got stuck, and I went whomping (walking alone fast somewhere wild) or found another way through the maze.  Those moments gave the book fresh rhythms.

C: The book is structured into sections titled Composition, Colour, Meaning, and Value.   How did you decide this?

T: (laughing) It was intuitive. I love structure. The book begins with a concrete story – the physical building – and it ends dream-like. Connections become geographically wider, more technological and philosophical and less tangible as the book progresses.  I studied Geography and the sections are reminiscent of old geography books. So maybe it’s a personal joke, too?

C: I loved the details of your early survival. I’ve a clear image of that upstairs floor you slept on, avoiding the spooky vestry. That ancient well out the back, which you managed to unclog so you could wash. The way you hung that ingenious lighting system.  Are you ever nostalgic for those times?  

T: No, not really. The world has changed and I’ve changed. It’s not just about the building anymore.  But I still wouldn’t want to sleep in the vestry again. It’s haunted, you know.

C: You say: A gallery is a synapse. It allows artistic neurons to flow between artist and client. We must encourage this transmission, this impulsive spark.  Can you please expand on this?

T: A synapse connects two nerves or a nerve and a muscle. A gallery in some ways fills this space too. It is the gel that allows the connection to happen. We need each other – artist, gallery and client.  My role is to keep the flame lit.

C: You have between 60 and 80 artists. How do you choose artists?

T: It’s an instinctive thing.  The gallery is already full, so I’m looking for specific things.  I want artists to have a place in a canon. They have to be good.  Ironically, if they try too hard to be commercial…well, there will be others like them. I would love to see more young artists. I would never show something I didn’t like.

C: What is an artist?  

T: A compulsion to do something is part of it.  All great artists feel a compulsion, but it should be to express their love, or maybe anger, for something by creating. They are also part of a continuity, and a way to connect and see.

C: Do we need art?

T: Art serves as a compass. It helps us to navigate difficult times. Putin and Donald Trump have no art in them, and that is one reason we are where we are today.

C: You feel deep respect for artists. Do you feel that you too are an artist?

T: I’m very close to the artists, and it’s a privilege to be allowed to show their work. We’re tied up in a synaptic bundle and everyone in it is artistic. The gallery has specific artistic challenges. Writing a memoir is one of them. Maybe this is my way of stamping my own artistic voice.

C: I love the way you describe the very different working spaces of artists. The huge Edinburgh abandoned building, the tiny cluttered island studio, etc.   When you bring their works to the gallery from these disparate places, do you feel like a host? Introduce them to the space and to the art works already there? Do you talk to them?

T: Far from that. Everything is professionally photographed and added to the data base the moment it arrives. We’re a slick operation. I am as interested in an artist’s long term career as I am in individual paintings. There’s not much time to say hello, but there is always a thrill in seeing more work on the gallery’s walls for the first time.

C: You say….an art dealer is always surrounded by love, for art is an intoxicating torrent of goodness. Are all art works really torrents of goodness?

T: It’s not that simple.  There are politically, economically and religiously useful artists, but I don’t think they produce real art. Where there’s money, there’s often corruption. A real artist is full of goodness. Gerald (Laing) once told me that it’s easy to make a monster.  What’s beauty and what’s goodness?  It’s the good ones that’ll be remembered. It’s not my favourite line in the book. I prefer He ran quickly on short legs.

C: Can you sum up what you want readers to feel?  

T: I’d like them to get to the end of the book, to enjoy the story and maybe learn a few things. It’d be good if they appreciated the artistic compulsion.

C: In your gallery history, when were you happiest?

T: Happiness isn’t what I’m looking for. In the gallery I feel most fulfilment and joy when the gallery is looking it’s best, and a storm comes in, so the lighting becomes dramatic. The fire is lit and music plays loudly, maybe Toots or the Maytals or possibly a requiem. I could be alone or someone else could be there. Time can stop for a moment. Outside the gallery, I enjoy the wildness of my garden. Nature seems infinitely resilient and creative.

C: Will there be a book launch?

T: I don’t enjoy crowds, so no launch is planned. But I’m happy to sign a copy in the gallery.  (www.kilmorackgallery.co.uk)

Tony has established his own publishing house - Woodwose Books. He intends to apply the same criteria in choosing authors as he does choosing artists. So, if you write something he likes, you’ve got a chance.